


The Central Science

by pallidiflora



Category: Pokemon
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-22
Updated: 2011-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-21 16:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pallidiflora/pseuds/pallidiflora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 3 PM on a summer Saturday when N comes across Blair kneeling in the grass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Central Science

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Pokemon Kink Meme, for the prompt "Black/random male NPC, with N looking on and being extremely jealous. N tries to work out this weird new feeling, with little success."

It's 3 PM on a summer Saturday—the air syrupy and close with moisture—when N comes across Blair kneeling in the grass with some rich boy's dick in his mouth.

N is not and has never been attuned to fragile things like emotions, the realms of sociology and other such soft-science fluff, but he doesn't need to know these things to know what he is feeling.

 _Jealousy_ , he thinks. _I am feeling jealous_.

 _Jealousy_ was, before now, a mere abstract concept, something to consider in the more noble contexts of biology and mathematics, but there is no neat theorem to explain away and compartmentalize this clenching in his gut. _Jealousy_ is, he realizes, unscientific.

It is illogical.

Blair and this boy are coupled together in a sparse copse of spindly trees; from what N has been told ( _only what you need to know, my lord_ , Zinzolin had said, _and nothing more_ ) this is unusual, perhaps even inappropriate—what pushes the bounds of decorum, exactly? He is unsure what Blair hopes to accomplish, moaning around this starched-and-pressed upstart's cock—Zinzolin never told him about this, possibly because he never needed to know—but he knows it is unchaste, and not a thing to do in the scrub that borders Route 16.

Passion—if it can be called that, for _passion_ is also something he is unfamiliar with, at least as far as sweat and bodies are concerned—is illogical too, he supposes.

Still, he cannot look away. He feels something else, now— _shame_ , maybe. He thinks of this in an academic context, mostly because it distracts him; _shame_ comes from an older word, meaning "to cover". This is easier to think about: language is cerebral, as in, _of the brain_ , unlike those cloying and maudlin _matters of the heart_. Silly, since emotions are from the brain, too, but it seems easier to divide them. To compartmentalize: hard science and soft science.

Appropriately, he wants to cover his eyes.

He doesn't, though, and watches as Blair unzips his own jeans and strokes himself; the noises he is making are obscene, and N reddens to hear them. He thinks of other things, now: there is a juniper bush, he thinks, ripe with cones, a deep green— _Juniper is the name of that lady professor_ , he thinks. _Green_ , he thinks, _can mean envious._ Green-eyed jealousy _is what it was called. Metaphorically speaking_.

The boy in his white pristine suit, with its knife-sharp pleats and crisp lapels, cries out; his suit bespeaks purity, the word _virginal_. Virginal came from _vireo_ , N knows—green, flourishing.

Green with envy.

N turns away, finally. Botany, history, etymology: they are not so distracting as they once were. Logic, academia, all those cerebral pursuits—they are not a comfort anymore.


End file.
